Forever Miserable

So basically, my dad left before I was born, and didn’t come back until my 3rd birthday, where he gave me $300 and never returned, so that was the beginning of my lifelong abandonment issues. However, despite the fact that he left, it was me and my mom and I was still happy even though there was a piece of my life missing, my mom’s family made sure I didn’t feel any different and they showed me so much love. My life was good up until the age of 5, when my mom met my stepdad. For some reason, I hated him from the moment I met him (bad vibes/feelings he gave off) and the great part was, he hated me too. He pretended to be nice to me until I was 6, (apparently that was when he married my mom in secret), and the beatings/punishments started soon after my 6th birthday. While my mom was at work, it’d just be me and him, and he’d accuse me of stealing “his food” or messing up his things, just so he’d have a good reason to tell my mom why he was beating me when she came home. He would make up lies of things that I did and then tell her, even if it was something as simple as me eating bread that was on the counter, he’d call me a “liar”, “thief”, “demon”, “witch” and “possessed”, and the worst part of it all, was that she believed every word that came out of his mouth. Where me and her were once close, she became emotionally unavailable to treating me as if I was the misery in her life, distancing herself from me, and letting him do whatever he wanted which consisted of excruciating beatings with any bars or extension cords or brooms he could find, and he’d go at it for hours, making me do these almost military-style punishments where my body would give out, and he’d keep me from eating/sleeping/even going to the bathroom past midnight. They had 4 kids together, 2 of which are very sickly, my brother has Autism and Sickle Cell disease, and my sister has a brain deformity and sickle cell, as well as a disease where her organs are too large for her body, and I would have to watch them from the age of 7. Anytime they cried or I didn’t feed them on time, I’d receive a beating or a backhand slap form my stepdad; this is the reason why I have decided not to have children of my own (my PTSD gives me flashbacks anytime I even see a baby/ pregnant person), and I literally feel a black pit in my stomach. I had my very first suicidal thought at the age of 7, and I would picture getting up the courage to grab a butcher knife from the kitchen, and run it through the middle of my chest, but I didn’t go through with it because with my luck, I felt I wouldn’t get the sweet relief of death, and I typically have very strong suicidal thoughts once every 2-3 months when I’ at my darkest hours, but I’m unfortunately to cowardly to ever go through with them. That fact alone that I can’t even kill myself and be released from the constant sadness that is my life, leaves me in constant depression, because I feel like I’m “stuck”/“trapped” on Earth simply to suffer, when I know for a fact (and I’m not just saying this), that I’d be much happier if I was dead. At least in death, I would no longer feel the pain and sorrow that cuts me so deeply. Throughout the daily beatings and punishments, my mother would either (1) sit and ignore my screams for help or (2) *My WORST memories she’d join in and punch me in the stomach and/or kick me on the arms and legs, even today our relationship is still very strained (for me) being that, she would blow up at me and curse me anytime I’d attempt to talk to her about my childhood, even now that she seems to understand what she did, I’ve realized that she is still an extreme narcissist and very toxic individual, so I cannot trust her or depend on her for support. In school, I was an excellent student and was actually quite popular which was the only good in my life, until I switched from private to public school in 6th grade. If you’ve ever seen movies where there’s a really nerdy/weird person that everyone in the school (Imean everyone in each grade) knows as that “One Weird Girl”, that was me and I was a social pariah. 7th grade is when I realized, I was very very different from the other kids, the bullying started from the popular kids making fun of how lame my clothes were, to me being a teacher’s pet, to me being too quiet, to me being weird (because I was so sheltered and wasn’t allowed to leave the house. EVER) I wouldn’t know “common things” everyone else , and finally (my favorite) me being too ugly for anyone to ever like me ( I’m dark and I would be called a “Niglet”, and my front tooth was chipped in half after my mother threw a remote at my face when I was 8), so they’d call me a vampire. Even when I began to gain friendships in 8th grade and I started getting close to people, as time went on, they’d distance themselves from me, realizing that befriending me was social suicide, and it was revealed to me that my “closest friends” hated me and would constantly comment on how weird/annoying/ugly I was. The bullying continued until my junior year of high school, but when it stopped things were looking up for me and i was finally being treated like a human being, wasn’t an ugly duckling, and started to make friends, however, I did notice that no matter how many friends I made, I never had that one person I was really close to, that I could depend on. Even now in my junior year of college, I’ve noticed that I make a new set of friends every year, but no one ever stays in my life, I’ve never had one person that consistently stayed and never left, this is partly my fault because social anxiety and PTSD make it nearly impossible to trust people, but for the last two years I met a church group and thought I had close friends, until yesterday, when I realized that to them I’m not a priority, just someone to hang with every once in a while when they’re bored/ lonely or even remember I exist. For the first time in my life, I told them my story and why I am the way I am, being truly vulnerable (which I had never done before) , and now, once again, for the millionth time in my life, people let me down, and after all these years, I realized that I can never be happy, I can never trust people (it has literally backfired every time I do), and I’ll always be alone and miserable. Just a “temporary person” in people’s lives, that they meet, talk to if they feel like it, and then they move on, and I’m still left with no one at the end of the day. I’m sorry this was very long, but I truly believed I died a long time ago, and even though my body is here, there’s no soul left, and I’m just an empty shell pretending to be the happiest person in the room.

That Must Be A Terrifying Childhood. If I Was In Your Position. I’d Run Away When The Time Is Right Or Just Hide. I Don’t See Telling Someone The Problem Would Help When They Say, “Your Just Being A Kid.” Trust Me, If Someone Was A Witness In Your Life. You May Have A Smooth Road To Drive On. Right Now, I Feel Pity But, In The Same Page As You. Even I May Not Experience It But, Like They Say, “You Never Know Who You Can Trust.”

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I really really appreciate your empathy!! Yes I thought of running away every chance I could get, unfortunately what stopped me was knowing I’d have no one to run to, and that I’d probably end up going hungry or being homeless in the process. I always wished someone had been able to see through my parent’s lies and just helped me/put a stop to everything, but my stepdad ensured that we were so isolated, even my mom stopped all contact with her family and all of her friends, they’d say “all we need is each other”. I also still struggle with trusting to this very day…

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I can see why, I mean. Because options in life can be risking but, also something else. Just like you, I had the urge to run away or to do something else. But, I always there will be a path that I’ll be tumbling to. But, it’s better to hope on something than nothing really. I prefer hoping for the better good for you.